


Not What We Were

by Luzula



Series: Not What We Were [1]
Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 07:10:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8362411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luzula/pseuds/Luzula
Summary: After the war ends, Laurence visits St. Helena.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/profile)[WerewolvesAreReal](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/WerewolvesAreReal/) for doing a beta for someone who asked out of the blue! This is the first time in years that I write a fic with the impulse of wanting to get the characters into bed. I don't really know why this pairing pinged me so hard, but hey, I'm glad to get some inspiration.

Laurence stood at the bow of the ship as she steered out from Dover under a fair breeze, Temeraire soaring high in the sky, a black speck so near the sun he was hardly visible. It was good to be on their way.

Retirement had not agreed with Laurence as well as he had expected. There had certainly been much to do at Tharkay's estate--the grounds had been shamefully neglected, and both he and Temeraire had worked at Tharkay's side with a will. It had been satisfying at first: clean, honest work that did not bloody one's hands. But one estate, however large and neglected, could not hold their attention forever, especially once Tharkay hired staff who were rather more competent at the work of managing an estate than Laurence was.

Temeraire, for his part, had eventually gained a seat in Parliament. Perscitia, who had every intricate procedure at her wing-tips, had schooled him in how to go about it, though he often complained to Laurence at the slow frustration of it all, when all he wanted was to make everyone see sense at once. Laurence was glad to see the progress they did make, slow and grudging as it was. He was also glad it was not him dealing with bureucrats and lords every day.

Still, in the long dark evenings in January of the year after the peace, he could not help but feel restless. He had been at war for most of his life, and without it, he did not entirely know what to do with himself. It even made him feel vaguely guilty, that he could not settle down to a life in peacetime. Surely he did not miss the war--he could not, certainly not the bloodshed and pointless suffering of it, but he did miss the driving purpose it gave his life.

So when Temeraire had announced that he would not mind visiting China, Laurence had made only a few ineffectual protests that surely Temeraire's work in Parliament would suffer, and then gladly acquiesced. He suspected that Temeraire had seen his restlessness, and had suggested the journey partly for his sake, but he did not question it overmuch.

They had considered going overland, but Laurence was not eager to renew his acquaintance with the dragons of India, and Temeraire felt much the same about Russian peasants, no matter that they were now at peace with that country. It was perhaps irrational, but the memory of being trapped in a burning barn with no exit still haunted Temeraire's dreams at times. Instead, they set off on a dragon-transport headed for Shanghai, captained by Johnston, an acquaintance of Laurence's from his navy days. It had been partly repurposed for trade rather than military purposes, and Temeraire shared the dragon-deck with lashed-down crates.

Laurence was glad to be at sea again: the smell of the salt air, the rocking of a hammock, the rhythm of sea life all brought back memories of his early years. He worried at first that their days would feel empty, but found instead that he and Temeraire now had time together as they had not had during Temeraire's busy days at Parliament. Temeraire had brought a chest of books, thoughtfully selected to interest them both. They read together, they argued politics, they flew and hunted fresh tunnies for Temeraire and for the crew.

The wind held, and the sun grew hot overhead. They dozed on the deck with sail-cloth rigged to shade them both, and as the swift tropical nights fell they saw new stars appear on the southern horizon. Temeraire took an interest in navigation and took charge of the midshipmen's education in spherical trigonometry and logarithms, much to the relief of Johnston, whose talents in that line were mediocre, and the master, who had other things he would rather do.

And then one night when Laurence was dining with Johnston, he mentioned that they were stopping at St. Helena for water and fresh fruit.

Laurence felt a queer jolt in his chest. He had not thought about it, that they would pass this way. Although of course he had known, on some level. He had just--not thought about it.

He managed the rest of the dinner without letting his inward thoughts disturb the conversation, but afterwards he paced the dragon-deck as the soft damp dusk fell. His meeting with the defeated Napoleon had lingered in his mind more than the brief event had perhaps warranted. He did not regret Napoleon's defeat--it had had to be done--but he was still uneasy with the manner of it and the role he himself had been made to play.

Temeraire's bulk shifted as his head came around to speak. "Laurence, whatever is bothering you? You are restless as Iskierka with an itch."

"I am sorry if I disturbed you," Laurence said, stopping between Temeraire's front legs. "I had news from the captain today that we are to stop at St. Helena."

Temeraire's eyes narrowed. "That is where Lien and Napoleon are?"

"Yes."

Temeraire rumbled low, deep in his chest. "I wonder what Lien is getting up to."

Lien, of course. Laurence himself had nearly forgotten about Lien in his brooding over Napoleon. But Temeraire had not, of course.

"I am wondering whether I ought to call on Napoleon," Laurence said abruptly.

"So that is what is on your mind. Why ought you to call on him?" Temeraire said.

Laurence found he could not quite put it into words.

"Nobody could expect you to," Temeraire continued. "It seems to me you _want_ to call on him, so why not do it? I, on the other hand, do not much want to see Lien, but I expect it will be difficult to avoid."

Perhaps Temeraire had the right of it--for whatever reason, he did want to see Napoleon, now that he was here. If he was allowed visitors, of course. Surely he would be.

St. Helena first appeared on the horizon as a fleck of cloud. As the island drew nearer Laurence could see steep black volcanic cliffs flecked with green, and nearer still, he could see in his glass the white-and-black seabirds and small feral dragons that nested and swarmed around the cliffs. The ferals were like small, vividly green jewels as they hovered, then dived and came up with fish.

They rounded a promontory and came into the harbour at Jamestown. The general mood aboard was all cheerful anticipation of a day's promised liberty. Better here than in a larger port, which offered more opportunity for general debauchery, as Johnston said.

Laurence made inquiries and found that Napoleon was housed some three miles outside Jamestown. Temeraire flew him there, over a windswept plain. The house was isolated, presumably to hinder escape. They settled down a polite distance away; Laurence saw no sign of Lien, though there was a dragon pavilion beside the house. He walked up to the house and knocked on the door. A servant opened it, and Laurence presented himself. Now that he was here, there was a sinking feeling in his gut. Why would Napoleon want to see him, after all? He was afraid he had set himself up for a most awkward encounter.

The servant came back, and invited him in French to come inside. He opened a door into a drawing room for Laurence, then bowed and disappeared.

Napoleon's gaze met his. There was for a moment such a startled recognition and surprise in his expression that Laurence felt a jolt of it in his own body, too. Then Napoleon's features smoothed over, but he was smiling; he strode towards Laurence, took his shoulders and kissed him on both cheeks, as he had done before. Laurence was at a loss as to how to respond--that French familiarity; it disarmed him so.

But Napoleon had stepped back. "Welcome, Admiral Laurence. You were announced only as a British gentleman; I expected the governor or one of his men."

Laurence shook his head. "I am an admiral no longer, Your..." He trailed off in confusion; Napoleon's face was wryly amused. "I am retired."

"We are neither of us what we were, I find. Come, use my given name. There is no need to stand on formality."

Again Laurence found himself momentarily taken aback. But he could hardly do less, when a former emperor offered to let him use his given name. "In that case, please call me William."

Napoleon gestured toward the armchairs by the window. They seated themselves, and the servant arrived with refreshments.

"Your retirement, is it...voluntary?" Napoleon said.

Laurence raised his eyebrows a little, then laughed ruefully. "I suppose you have realized I was not the Admiralty's first choice for the post, but rather, the only possible choice."

"The more fool them," Napoleon said bluntly.

Laurence flushed slightly. "In any case, my retirement is entirely voluntary."

"I am glad to hear it. And to what do I owe the pleasure of your visit?"

"I am merely passing through; Temeraire wishes to visit China."

"Ah. But come, do you have news of Europe?" he said in a more businesslike tone. "I get precious little of it, and I crave it."

Laurence gave an account of the last year's events in Europe, prolonged by Napoleon's probing questions. Laurence replied as well as he could, aided by the knowledge he had gained from Temeraire's involvement in politics. There could be no harm in giving Napoleon this, Laurence thought. It was not as though it would help him plot escape.

"They have kept my legal code in Italy and the German states, you say?" There was a gleam of triumph in Napoleon's eyes. "That is my lasting legacy, you know. I myself may be defeated, but the new laws live on. And how is your own country?"

"Britain is well," Laurence said, a bit stiffly.

"Come, surely you do not see me as an enemy still," Napoleon said, his voice low. He did not say it, but Laurence remembered it as an echo: _you should have fought by my side_. He looked down in confusion, to avoid Napoleon's keen eyes. What was he doing here? With this man, who had been his enemy so long, even if their countries were now at peace?

He stood abruptly, looking out the window. Dusk was falling over the plain outside; they had been talking for hours and the room was dim. "I do not know," he said in a low voice, turning to look at Napoleon.

He stood as well, and came to stand by Laurence's side. "I understand your feeling for your country; it is only natural. But do you not agree with me, on many counts? The rights of dragons alone..."

"I do agree with you there," Laurence conceded. "But Britain has a Parliament which I firmly stand by; we cannot sweep away the old as an emperor can do who needs only to consult his own will. Laws will be changed, in due time." Perhaps he had gone too far--questioning an emperor to his face. Well, former emperor.

But Napoleon had a gleam in his eye, as if he enjoyed the challenge. "And could I have done so had not the whole of France been behind me? The Revolution was the work of the citizens, and I merely continued that work. Britain wanted to return the Bourbons to the throne. Think of the old court that feasted while the people starved: do you truly think they served France better?"

"I do not," Laurence said honestly, and Napoleon smiled. But Laurence went on: "England was not behind you, though. Do you truly think new laws can be forced on us at the point of a sword?" His heart pounded, as if he had been in battle. Napoleon's arrogance was legendary: surely he would not yield.

But Napoleon surprised him. "I agree it is not the best way," he said simply.

Laurence narrowed his eyes and considered--that was hardly a concession of the whole point, but from him, perhaps it meant much. Suddenly Napoleon smiled, his hands gripping Laurence's shoulders as if he meant to kiss his cheeks again. "Oh, William, you are a treasure. I have not felt so alive since they brought me here."

Laurence coloured, his heart still pounding. "I confess I do not see why you regard me so highly. Surely any British officer would debate politics with you, if that is what you want."

"Any British officer?" Napoleon said softly, shaking his head. "You took the cure to the dragons of France, though it made you a traitor to your own country. You saved the life of my son, with danger to your own life. And you say you do not see why I have regard for you."

Napoleon's hands were still on his shoulders, and Laurence was very aware of the fact. He looked away from Napoleon's eyes. "Forgive me, I am not used to your French manners."

"You think these are my manners with everyone?" Napoleon said, his voice low.

Laurence swallowed, and his racing heart told him that his body was a traitor to him, that he had known what was happening here, had perhaps known even before St. Helena had come into sight on the horizon. "No," he said hoarsely.

He would have balked had Napoleon shown any sign of triumph, of conquest. But though his gaze was intense, Napoleon merely whispered, "William. May I?"

"You may," Laurence said, meeting Napoleon's mouth as he stepped closer. He would not yield his country, but his body he would yield gladly.

***

Laurence woke in the morning utterly disoriented, then lay blinking in disbelief while the course of the previous night replayed in his mind. Laurence had not been with a man before, though he had always had inclinations that way. It was easier, when one was also inclined towards women, to suppress any interest in men as dangerous and unnecessary. Well, this night had certainly proved the strength of those inclinations.

Then he sat up abruptly in the bed in sudden realization and set his feet down on the floor.

Napoleon stirred beside him. "Regrets?" he asked.

Laurence flushed. "No," he said. "I simply remembered Temeraire--he might be concerned over my absence."

"I hope my staff will have offered him refreshments. But you must go and reassure him, of course. And--you may rely on the discretion of my staff."

Laurence pulled his clothes on--they were lying in a disordered heap on the floor--but turned before he left. What did one say, in such a situation? He could not simply leave like this. "Napoleon. I will be back."

When Laurence emerged from the house he saw that it was late morning; he had slept soundly, after spending much of the night--well. Temeraire was in the dragon pavilion, but emerged immediately when he saw Laurence.

"I apologize," he said to Temeraire. "I ought to have let you know I would--stay the night." He felt that damnable flush creep up his cheeks again. Temeraire would remark on it; he had no thought of delicacy.

"Yes, you should have. But the staff offered me a handsome meal. Lien was here. She said she didn't know what Napoleon saw in you, which was not very nice of her. But of course I didn't expect any better, from her."

"Lien was here?" Laurence said, alarmed. "I hope you didn't fight."

"No," Temeraire said. He lowered his voice to what amounted to a whisper, for a dragon. "I do not know what her intentions are, but now that Napoleon has lost his power, I wonder if she might try to escape without him."

"We should alert the dragons stationed in Jamestown, then." Perhaps Napoleon and Lien's partnership had never been like his and Temeraire's, but he felt sorry nevertheless at the thought of Lien abandoning her former ally. If, indeed, that was what she planned.

"Yes, we will do that," Temeraire said. "I do not know which country would have her, though."

He paused, then looked Laurence over. "Did you have a good visit?" Temeraire asked.

Laurence straightened, hoping his disheveled state was not as revealing as he feared. Or perhaps Temeraire would smell it on him. "Ah. Yes, I did."

Temeraire tilted his head to the side. "Did you mate with him?" he asked, sounding curious.

"Er," Laurence said intelligently.

"Oh, I am sorry, I know you humans don't like to talk about it. But I am glad for you, if you did. Mating is good even if there won't be any eggs. Or children I should say."

Laurence put his hands over his face in dismay. "Ah, I promised Napoleon I would say farewell," he said, and fled the field.

Thankfully, Napoleon was dressed when he returned. "May I offer you breakfast?"

Laurence accepted, and seated himself. He was very conscious of the slight physical marks which the night had left on his body. The sight of Napoleon's hands, his blunt fingers, woke memories which stirred him, and he struggled not to show it.

"I hope there were no hostilities between Temeraire and Lien," Napoleon said.

"Temeraire told me they spoke, but did not relay the details. But they did not fight, at least."

"She often roams over the island, instead of staying here. But I should hardly call myself her master--we were allies, that is all."

It seemed Napoleon was well aware of Lien's nature, and it seemed cruel to say anything of Temeraire's suspicions, if they were indeed true.

"How do you spend your time now you have quit the Corps?" Napoleon asked. "I cannot see you idling at some country estate."

"I have been doing exactly that," Laurence said with a wry smile. "Well, perhaps not idling. But I have not entirely found my footing yet. After the war..." He trailed off.

They were both silent for a space. Laurence wondered, suddenly, how Napoleon was spending his days. Such a man, who had been an active, driving force in the world, reduced to this one house--it put his own listlessness to shame. But the man would hardly welcome pity. _Loss is the hazard of battle_ , as he himself had said.

"It takes men differently, war," Napoleon said. "And the end of war, too. War is simpler, in a way--it has but one end, and it is the means which one must worry about. But in peace, men have many ends and many means."

"Yes. I suppose I have not...found my peacetime purpose yet. But I will."

"If I thought the offer could tempt you, I would help you find you a position in France."

Laurence laughed. "Still trying to win me to your side?"

"Always," Napoleon said promptly.

"I thank you, no. And your countrymen might not regard me as highly as you do," Laurence said dryly. "But I do not relish life as a war hero, either--people constantly try to put you in ceremonies or use you to serve their own interests."

"Surely you have friends and allies as well."

Laurence bowed his head in assent. "I do. And perhaps I have neglected them." He hesitated, then asked, "And you, then? How do you spend your time?"

Napoleon spread his hands. "I have my correspondence, though it is of course monitored. And I am writing my memoirs. For my son, when he is old enough to read them."

They sat in silence for a while. The sun was slanting in through the windows, high in the sky already. The ship was leaving Jamestown later that day, and the time was come for Laurence to leave. He stood, and hesitated--what did one say?

"Oh, that British reserve of yours," Napoleon murmured, coming around the table to face him. "I admit I took pleasure in seeing it break down."

Nettled, Laurence took two steps forward, taking Napoleon's face in his hands and kissing him deeply. Napoleon's arms came around him, pulling him close.

They parted and Laurence stepped to the door. He looked back at Napoleon standing straight at the small table, the light from the window falling on him.

"I will visit you again on the way back, if I may."

"I will look forward to it," Napoleon said.

Laurence held Napoleon's gaze a moment longer, then left the house and climbed aboard Temeraire's back. The house on the plain dwindled below them as they rose into the air. 


End file.
